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by Illidria



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: F/M, LLF Comment Project
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 14:38:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11716431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illidria/pseuds/Illidria
Summary: The war with Drachma was horrible, devastation and death running rampart. But even bad things can help us see what is important.





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**Author's Note:**

  * For [InkuisitivSkins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkuisitivSkins/gifts).



> Here it is, the two one-shots that wanted to be a complete fic. There`s so much more I could`ve written, honestly, but as I already feel like I`ve gone widely overboard with this, well... I hope you like it, those ambitious prompts ;)  
> And thank you so much :D

The first fireball flew right over the Wall, landing in the no man`s land between North City and the Northern Wall of Briggs. Upon impact it burst, exploding, leaving behind a crater thrice the size the fireball had been, a fiery pit in the snow-filled landscape. By pure chance nobody had been hurt, yet many window-panes in the outskirts of North City broke when hit by the shockwave.

The second fireball, smaller than the first one by half, hit the top of the wall. Later this would be recounted as looking similar to a tennis-ball, hitting the net with its lowest point. It exploded on impact, most of the force going into the sky, useless. Behind the wall the ball fell, robbed of its momentum and power, here too creating a pit filled with billowing flames.

The third one fell in the no man`s land between Drachma and Amestris. It was smaller even than the second, the pit it created small and the flames inside of it going out after a few minutes in the frigid winter winds. It too, hurt no one.

Plenty of people had seen the impact of the first fireball, realising with fear that the ongoing conflict with their neighbouring country had finally escalated. Skirmishes had been plenty over the past two months, leading to General Armstrong asking for and being granted reinforcements. The residents of North City were aware that the Wall was well manned, almost at its full capacity, when the second fireball hit it.

It was perfected military protocol and harsh training that had prevented the loss of even more lives. After the first fireball, an all-out alarm had sounded inside the Wall, leading to the General ordering everybody except for a select few to get ready for battle and await further orders on ground level. Several camouflage-troops were sent out through many of the hidden passage-ways leading on and into the mountains surrounding the Wall, set to find out where exactly their enemy was firing from. And General Armstrong had, accompanied by a dozen of snipers, climbed to the walls top-level, in the hope to maybe see the enemy, to figure out a counter-tactic. To intercept before another one of these powerful projectiles was fired and hit North City.

When later asked why she`d thought it a good idea to go topside while the enemy was firing such weapons, she`d answered that she`d thought of her foe as capable enough to better their aim after the first try, not to get worse.

The Wall was hit on what would be considered the top-right corner by the Drachmans. The outer hull that was directly impacted was destroyed and partly melted into one another, but when examined later it was found that the fireball hadn’t even reached the middle of the Wall in its destructive path. The shockwave was considerably smaller than the one of blast number one, not even strong enough to crack the piping inside the structure.

Yet, over fifty people died. Four snipers, those closest to the blast, died immediately. It had taken days until all of their bodies had been found. All the others on top of the wall suffered burns of the highest degrees, all on the left side of their body. Bones broke when the shockwave hit them, as with the burns the extensity hinging on how close they`d been to the blast.

But it had been those still walking through the walls, heading to ground level and with this heeding the Generals orders, that had lost their lives. She avenged their deaths only a few hours later.

Those waiting at ground level had recounted how first fear and then determination had swept through them upon hearing the impact. Feeling the impact. Captain Henschel had reacted quickly and formed first-aid units, sending them up. They were to assess the damage and help survivors. He was aware that most people were still needed down here, that an assault on the enemy forces was vital. Had seen and fought enough, to trust his gut feeling on this.

And when the third bang sounded, ahead of them now, not behind or on top of them, General Armstrong had swept into the room, a white-clad soldier keeping up with her, speaking hastily. They`d just seen her determination, heard her orders, voice loud and clear and then had filed out of the fortress.

Ten minutes of silence until they reached a snow-bank, behind which they got in formation. Hand-signs was all they saw. The assault on the drachman forces began. There were many, more than ever had attacked before. But they soon noticed the lack of canons, everybody having been keen on finding out and destroying what had set off those horrifying projectiles. Yet, the Drachmans had brought portable cover with them, hiding behind reinforced metal-fences, trying to pick them off one by one. Henschel had been the one to keep closest to the General during the battle and thus knew of their outer wings being cut into small troops, set to round the enemy. They`d just have to hold their position for a bit longer and the Drachmans would have to fight on several sides at once. And if all else failed, they could still fall back to the Fort.

Many of their own fell, wounded by gun-shots. But further impacts seemed to not be in their enemies repertoire and after the unmistakable sound of amestrian semi-automatics was heard against the wind, Henschel knew that the enemy was trapped. And then, just as everybody had waned the battle won, a fourth impact, almost pitiful in comparison to even the third, sounded. Admits the drachman forces panic broke out, fire burning many of them, the explosion killing even more. Whatever their weapon was, it had backfired. The General gestured for the enemies position to be stormed and after five more minutes all quarrel died down.

After a bit of shifting and shackling, it was clear that Drachma had taken alchemy into their repertoire of weaponry. Four, and he could not bring himself to see them as anything else, kids kneeled before them. He saw the General seizing them up, their haggard appearances, their utter exhaustion. The horror on their faces. With a steady voice, laced with an undertone that had a shiver traveling up every Briggs men’s spine, she asked them if Drachma was capable of reproducing what was done today.

Alternating between shaking and screaming, an about sixteen-year-old girl, the only one in the group, screamed in Drachman.

_"Three more in Drachman Gordyy! Find them, please! Let this madness end!"_

They regrouped and the General had sent the scouts ahead. Several people, mainly those wounded, she sent back to the Fort, as well as the prisoners. She gave Falman the order to get in touch with the Fuhrer, to have him send back-up and to get her the Elric Brothers. As fast as humanly possible. The man had saluted and went to leave, his gaze only ghosting over her body.

Nobody had commented on her injuries, first brushed off as soot by many. Henschel had only understood in the heat of battle that her uniform wasn’t soaked with blood, but burnt to her skin in many parts. She walked a bit funny, but her rigidness commanded him silently to keep his mouth shut, yet he chalked it up to her ribs, all other limbs moving to nimbly from what he had seen. But he knew better to ask her, to probe her, not now, not with the threat of destruction still looming.

The smell was hard to ignore though.

The scouts had come back after an hour, the first logistic corps from the wall within thirty minutes. Fresh ammunition, those bleeding fitted with field dressings and tanks driven to their location. A lieutenant informed the General that the canons not destroyed were manned and pointed in their direction. When flares were set they would take aim and fire. Armstrong had nodded and not only Henschel, but every other soldier had followed when the march to Drachman Gordyy began.

The newspapers later sang in the highest notes of the operation.

The General had divided the troop in many small portions, every single one of them appointed a certain job. When the scouts made out where exactly the alchemists were most likely hidden, a distraction was mounted. A firefight pulled the thin drachman troops into one corner of the base and it had soon become apparent that they were left without proper leadership. Over the deafening sound of weapons, the General had spoken, offered those that lay down their weapon their life. After a few more minutes of futile fighting, many of the young men and women laid down their weapons. All the while a team of specialists had taken the remaining alchemists prisoner, hindering their ability to move and getting them to the Fort.

Most soldiers had to do nothing in the fight, beside stand and watch, no tank was used, not one canon fired. Only few drachman soldiers were killed, the rest disarmed and imprisoned. And when General Armstrong went inside the base, easily finding the command centre, going through the information found there, she knew that she needed to talk to the Fuhrer as soon as possible.

* * *

She`d visited Ishval every year since he was stationed there, always for about two weeks. Three years in a row, without fail. Miles had felt somewhat honoured by that, knowing that she took so much time out of her busy schedule to come down. Made the long journey just to hear him ramble about their latest accomplishments. Would listen closely to him, trying to figure out if he would ever come back to the mountain and her. And he always took extra care while talking about the future, knowing that he wanted to stay in Ishval, knowing that if he came back to the mountain he would be with her again, but not how he, they, wanted to be. Knew, that he couldn’t take it anymore now, being so close and yet so far.

And when she couldn’t visit, Karley the one who radioed them with the news of the war with Drachma, faster than any newspaper would reach them, he felt more anxious than ever. Regularly they got updates:

How the Fuhrer visited the Wall after the initial attack, overseeing the damage to the structure and talking with his General about how to proceed. That Drachman refugees soon poured to the border, not many, but more in a day than they`d gotten in the last twenty years combined. Drachma was suffocating in the grip of the Czar, the last in a long line of dictators, whether they were peaceful or warmongering. The normal populace was seemingly starving, the attack against their border apparently also an effort to secure resources. It had put all of them somewhat off, when it became popular knowledge, that the drachman populace was in large parts hoping for an intervention by one of the neighbouring countries. And after lengthy discussions, concerning the safety of Amestris and its people, it was decided that Amestris would intervene. Those in charge of producing the alchemistic weapon used against them had to be found and the future safety of Amestris had to be ensured.

It was to those having worked under General Armstrong, now working in Ishval, no secret that this mission would either fail, or the Drachman’s cry for freedom would be answered.

Shortly Miles had thought about traveling up to the Wall, to offer working under her command again. To be by her side through this war, not doubting that either of them could put their feelings aside when more important things were at stake. Heartbreak he could take, but barely the thought of her fighting alone, however foolish that thought in truth was. Nothing came from that idea, except for raised eyebrows and a call by Fuhrer Mustang, who was apparently instructed to order that he further stayed in Ishval. Which had Miles only becoming more anxious and scared, because the situation had to be more than just serious if the General did not want him to be present. He had known after all, that there`d been more to his part in the promised day, than entertaining Grumman. However much the General had tried to play it down.

Stuck in the desert, he radioed Briggs as often as possible, his old comrades free with information, if he made sure to call through a secure line.

The fighting in Drachma was brutal from what he heard, not comparable with the skirmishes at the border. People died left and right, the blue-coats victorious, albeit only because of their better training and gear. The populace was starving and the General called in more supply-trucks at every village they marched through, the forces being greeted with fear and hunger by women and children. Official photographers followed the troop and the news coverage was often littered with pictures of battlefields and horror, or crying Drachman’s freed from their oppressors. Depending on which way the publics opinion needed to be swayed. It was his only chance to see her now, as she was sometimes in pictures too.

Briggs men initially scorned by the public for their part in the promised day, were becoming more and more revered by the minute, with every notion of victory, of kindness. When information was leaked, facts of what really went down back then, Briggs men and the General in particular, were suddenly heroes. Not that they knew about it. Not that they`d care, really.

But when he heard of what happened in the drachman capital, how the Czar had faced the people of Briggs in the capitol, uttering his last wish, he`d shared the feeling of the public.

The man who had starved his people, who forced young men and women, many of whom had to be considered children, to fight, wanted to die an honourable death. And from what Henschel had told him, personally over the radio as soon as they`d been back in the Fort, she`d obliged. She`d shed her coat, her uniform jacket and drew her sabre, the white standard blouse long forgone by all of them in favour of the black thermo-shirts. And even though she was injured heavily, hindered by pain and bandages, she`d run him through after only three minutes.

He`d been captivated, could imagine how she would fight, having seen her do it so many times. But the notion of injuries had startled him, nobody ever relaying that she was hurt more than a normal Briggs man would ignore. His worry calmed by the return to Amestris, started anew.

And after several days of worry, lost sleep and slip-ups in his work, the man formerly known as Scar, known as Suhail, took him to the side. Told him that he could keep an eye on everything for a few weeks, that he should maybe travel up North, to visit his former commander. To congratulate her on the won war and the peace-treaty that was underway. With a look in his red eyes that was all too knowing.

And he`d done so without much preamble. Informed the men working for him, spoke to some of the leaders of the pro forma Ishvalans and was told by every single person to get going. That Ishval would always be there for him.

The train-ride was long, exhausting and yet he`d managed not to get a wink of sleep. He was too nervous, the feeling only increasing when the transport, he called for in advance, picked him up at the train-station. Captain Henschel had personally come, driving the military pick-up truck and Miles took the passenger seat.

“Good to see you again Colonel. I can tell you, the men were elated when they heard you were coming.”

Miles knew dancing around a topic when he saw it, having perfected this art with the General long ago.

“And you too Captain. I look forward to seeing everybody again.”

He`d talked with lots of people over the radio, many had visited Ishval over the course of the past two and a half years. Yet, he`d never been back at the wall since leaving, fearing that he would just get stuck again, the prospect of being near _her_ , even in such an unsatisfying way, tempting.

“General Armstrong senior is there too, just turned up two days ago and started regular screaming matches with the Queen. Doc is throwing the biggest fit because of it.”

Armstrong senior was a character not unlike his eldest daughter, strict, stern and demanding. Put he`d met the man before and knew him to wear his humour on his sleeve.

“And what does he want? He never comes up the mountain without a reason.”

Henschel shrugged, eyes on the road.

“All we bears know, is that the Doc is hounding her all the time since we`ve come back. Apparently the Queen is not careful enough with her injuries, even though I would not dare judge such a thing. But the betting pool says a thousand cenz on the Doc having called him.”

Miles took that information, forcing a smile on his lips.

“I would not think Patricia so foolish.”

The Wall was coming up in front of them, the hole left by the falling fireball nothing more than a pit they shovelled their snow in now. He wondered how the other side looked.

Stepping out of the pick-up, Miles turned to Henschel once more.

“But just in case Henschel, five hundred on him trying to talk her into coming back home and gift him a bunch of grandchildren.”

* * *

When the retired General visited his daughter, you could usually hear it from two floors away. Philip Gargantos Armstrong was blessed with a loud organ that made normal words sound incredibly loud. His daughter just had a very short temper and tended to scream when pissed beyond belief. A trait her father was very good at bringing out.

He was almost concerned that he didn’t hear them right away when stepping out of the elevator. But the silence didn’t hold for long.

“Livvie-kins, honeypuff, calm down. Is it so unreasonable what I asked of you?”

“UNREASONABLE?! ARE YOU FUK...”

Miles had seen them often enough, their kind of interaction even more unique than the interaction between her and her little brother. Her father would now look sternly at her, lips pursed.

“…EFFING KINDING ME? DO YOU EVEN UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU JUST ASKED ME?”

“Olivier, dear, Grandchildren after such a long time are expected. I understand that you worry about being too old, but the Henderson’s daughter just had her first child with thirty-nine. So you have some time left still. And there are plenty of men who will look past the scars, if that`s what`s worrying you.”

It was horrible that he had to hear this conversation, that her father was talking about such things so loudly. His tone spoke of a man meaning well, but also blissfully unaware of what other people wanted. Of a man not understanding that there were things in your children’s lives you simply had no say in.

He could practically hear the last of the Generals nerves snap. She spoke, tone dangerously low. Miles would`ve bet that if there were any Briggs men left on this level, they were fleeing now. He felt his own instincts pull on his feet, but resisted.

“Are you even aware of what you`re saying?!”

“Livvie-kins, it is not proper to yell at your father!”

And now he saw her reason leave through the crack in the door.

“ME YELLING? YOU ARE YELLING! GET OUT! GET OUT RIGHT NOW!”

He left, primly, a hint of insult showing on his face.

“We`ll talk again when you have calmed down.”

Miles was almost walked past, greeted with a smile and a handshake.

“Colonel Miles, what a pleasure to meet you. Finally tired of the sand in your boots?”

Philip Armstrong laughed at his own joke and took his silence as an invitation to lean down with a conspiratorial look on his face.

“I guess you want to talk to my daughter? Well, you could have chosen a better time, but I guess you are used to her temper tantrums. I wish you the best of luck!”

The man left, Miles standing dumbfounded in the corridor, hand still stretched out, not having gotten even a word out.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

His head whipped towards the door of her bureau, where she stood leaning against the doorway. She suddenly did not sound angry, nor pissed or irritated. Just tired.

He took his time looking at her, mainly because his brain was still trying to catch up. She`d gotten thinner, not by much as there wasn’t much to lose. There were dark circles under her eyes, bags even, and the black thermo-shirt was bulked up in places by what had to be bandages under it. Her skin was pallid, but her eyes were bright, clearly waiting for him to finally say something.

He snapped into a salute.

“I wanted to offer my congratulations for your work in Drachma. Not everybody could have brought a peace-agreement underway, Sir!”

With a wave of her hand she told him to stand at ease.

“Thank you Miles, I appreciate it. I guess you`ve met my father?”

She gestured for him to follow her into her bureau and with the calm of someone who`d done it a thousand times, he poured coffee for the two of them without thinking twice, preparing it according to their preferences. He set down the mugs and sat down opposite of her. He let slide for now, that she skirted the topic of Drachma almost elegantly.

“He kind of assaulted me, Sir.”

“Drop the honorifics, Miles.”

She sat straight still, was commanding and calculating and a force to be reckoned with. But the tiredness he first saw seemingly spread through her whole being, pulled on her edges, trying to unravel her. It really seemed to him, that she was tired of being herself. His heart clenched with the realisation that he was so close to her again and suddenly he knew without a doubt, that he couldn’t stay. Not on this side of the table.

“So, did you have fun eavesdropping?”

He saw the bait and didn’t take it.

“You two were hard to overhear. He`s got a very loud voice.”

Her screaming was something he didn’t mention, but the General had always been one for self-reflection.

“I wasn’t too quite either, I guess. He means well, for himself at least.”

The conversation felt surreal to him and suddenly he wished not to have travelled here at all. The thought in and on itself was laughable, after pining for her for so long, but the feeling in his gut could not be denied. She was troubled, deeply and he wanted nothing more to take her in his arms, talk her through it, hold her through it, yet knowing this was impossible, was unbearable. He wanted to flee, but didn’t. However much it hurt, he couldn’t leave her now.

“He`s a father, nothing more, nothing less. Most fathers tend to think that the things that were good for them, are good for their children too. But if I may speak freely, he could’ve been less condescending.”

She cocked her head, carefully, and looked him in the eye.

“How long did Patricia have to pester you, until you gave in and travelled up here?”

He thought about what to tell her. The Doc had once demanded to speak to him, telling him of the Generals extensive burns. Left leg, arm and ribcage burned deeply, how her uniform had in part melted into her flesh. How she had travelled deep inside the enemy’s territory, skin grafts too fresh for anybody’s liking, especially after the Doc had ranted at him, that cold was the worst thing they could come in contact with right now. She`d appointed a field-nurse to exclusively care for the General, who had more than her hands full with the stubborn women. Broken bones, two of her ribs for the third time by now, the force from the blast not only fracturing them, but also her ulna and several of the bones in her left hand. Except for her ribs everything had healed well, but the Drachman cold had claimed two of her toes and got her a still blotchy looking shin-skin, thanks to a slowly healing frostbite. The Doc had angrily ordered him to come up to Briggs and talk the General at least out of doing patrols.

Her raised eyebrow told him to hurry up his thinking.

“She radioed in, yes. But that’s not the reason I travelled here. Even though I`m convinced the Doc will take it that way.”

The General sighed and it grated on his nerve that he could apparently not read her properly anymore. He`d silently prided himself in his ability to understand her wordlessly most of the time, to know what she was thinking and feeling.

“Then why are you here?”

He told a lie, would continue too for the next five days, until leaving again for Ishval. Inviting her for a visit, not able to get through her newest layer of icy armour while in this cold.

“Just to see how everything is going, with so many changes going on up here.”

* * *

Ishval was colourful. Ishvalan weddings were colourful. Also, happy, loud and a chance for everybody to forget the hard work of the past years for a few moments and just celebrate the good things. Invitations still were of great importance to attend, but once you were regarded as family it was almost certain that you`d get one. And when you were considered a friend of the family, it was even more certain. Once you were invited, a good excuse was needed not to attend, or you would be scorned in the future. It was considered a good-luck-charm if many people attended your wedding, also a sign of your social status and your own generosity.

Miles was happy that so many people invited him. It meant he was a trusted member of the community by now, not some blue-coat who just looked Ishvalan. It sometimes was indeed tedious, knowing your free time was cut for another afternoon and preparing according to tradition. Bathing and clothing rituals were strict, as was the code for gifts. Not to mention that everybody had antisocial days, were you just weren’t in the mood for long drinking and conversation. Yet, he always went if he could. And he was glad to see so many weddings happening in Ishval and he was also quite content, seeing as many a military man and women was invited too.

And he was, even though it was in no way his accomplishment, proud to see that General Armstrong was slipped an invitation to the same wedding that he was.

She was in Ishval again, for the first time in two and a half years. Had been greeted enthusiastically by many, having left quite an impression when being here. The war with Drachma was over, a peace agreement made. From what he heard from her and through the grapevine, aka Patricia, the relation with their neighbour was finally calm enough for her to travel and her wounds healed well enough as not to risk infection.

Stepping out of the train, she hadn’t worn her dress blues. He`d been taken aback for a moment then, General Armstrong in civvies not a sight you saw often. Black trousers, loosely fitted, and a white blouse, sleeves not rolled back even a bit. While Ishvalan nights weren’t hot, they weren’t chilly either and for a second it had hit him somewhere deep that she was probably feeling self-conscious about the latest marks the war had left her with.

The growing feeling that she could’ve done with some reassurance the last time he`d been in the north, about half a year ago. But she`d been in her uniform then, at the same time visited by her father. And he`d not seen her in any state of undress since he`d sat with her through an examination of her physician after the promised day, while she was listing of orders to him that he was to relay to the Briggs men.

It had been bad enough then, to keep himself from saying something.

While showing her to her quarters, one of the by now finished small houses for officers, Bushra, the current chieftain’s daughter, had stepped up to the General and handed her an invitation. Had excused herself for the shortness of time to prepare, but that she didn’t want to put her out by sending the invitation to Briggs, not wanting to force her to decline attending. Her hands forced by the date of the Generals arrival being uncertain.

Graciously the General had accepted the invitation and for a few more minutes Bushra had happily told her how she was invited to her mother’s house in the morning of the wedding, where she would be outfitted accordingly. The General had thanked the young women again and when she`d finally went in the direction of her home, Miles had been asked if he could explain her the traditions concerning gifts again.

Quietly he`d wished her a good night after promising to take her to the market the next day and for a second there had been the old hesitation again. Before his heart had the chance to beat faster, she was inside the house and had closed the door.

* * *

The males waited in front of the Ishvalan temple, like tradition commanded them too. Kameez and lofty pants he wore, the former of white muslin, the latter black, showing the people in attendance that he was unmarried. He`d made the rounds and greeted everybody, clapped the groom on the shoulder, offering a few words of encouragement to the trembling kid. Uniforms scorned at Ishvalan weddings, the Fuhrer was wearing a white Kameez too, his pants also black and when they greeted each other, the question he`d be asked was clear before the man said it out loud.

“Colonel, nice to see you here! Do you know by chance, if General Armstrong is coming too?”

Since the General had arrived, the man was hounding her. She`d not talked with him about it, neither at shared meals nor when visiting the market. He`d explained the traditions concerning wedding gifts to her, which lead to the purchase of a beautifully wrought silver-bracelet, set with two small stones of lapis lazuli. He`d marvelled when she recounted the meanings of gemstones while looking through the women’s wares, trying to find something most fitting for the girl she`d once helped out at sixteen, against a bunch of piggish merchants. She`d asked him yesterday evening if he would keep close to her during the wedding, should she have any questions and he`d said yes. There`d been more on her mind, questions hanging in the air, but the Fuhrer rounding the corner had her press her lips together tightly and flee the scene.

“She was invited personally by the bride, so she`ll be there, Sir.”

The nearing of the women gave him a chance to position him away from the Fuhrer, not disliking the man, but his current fixation on the General unsettling. As long as he didn’t know what was going on, he`d keep his distance.

Yet, the slur of colour nearing them was a sight to behold. Through the main street the women were pouring in, many dancing and singing in Ishvalan, dressed in all colours of the rainbow. The only one you couldn’t see was the bride, shielded from view by her fellow women. Traditionally she`d wear white, at the most trimmed with gold or silver, as did the groom. White was the colour of newlyweds, however old, symbolising that a new life started together, any trouble you had with others washed away, thus your slate clean. He liked this tradition, the thought of forgiveness through a declaration of love. Even though it seemed almost too easy to him, just to decide to let go of past troubles.

Thought vanished from his mind when he saw her, clad in a dark blue Lehenga style Saree. It was a slightly modernized version of a traditional garb for this kind of occasion, often chosen by younger Ishvalan women. Embroidered with silver and gold as well as bits of white, he was blown away by how well the dress fit her, right arm bare and the slither of bare stomach one usually saw highlighted and obscured at the same time, by a chain of silver-coins wound around her waist. He understood how well regarded she had to be amongst Bushras family to be gifted with such a dress, silver embroidery reversed for friends, golden for family, both worked into the cloth.

Shielded by the women of her family the bride entered the temple, while all the others merged with the crowd, finding their loved ones. The General stepped up to him, loosening the dark blue sash wound around her right wrist, winding it around his hip, knot to his right. He knew that she would remember what he explained, but was surprised that she would gift him the sash belonging to that dress. The side the knot was on showed if you were engaged or not, the sash at all letting people know that you weren’t attending alone. It was something the women could never demand to be given back, could only be re-gifted by the man. If it was, it usually meant engagement.

He could not keep himself from speaking lowly with her, though the mass of people had calmed considerably since the young pair had stepped into the temple. Silence was considered a virtue in Ishvalas house.

“You look breathtakingly beautiful.”

For a second he feared that it was the wrong thing he said, that he should not torture himself so much with their duties between them. She only smiled at him slightly.

“Thank you. But you`re not too bad yourself.”

Her left elbow found his side, so much softer than she used to do it years ago. But his heart fluttered and suddenly this feeling was back, that regulations could be beaten, that distance was a cruel, but manageable mistress. Letting his gaze wander through the crowd, smiling, he saw Mustang and Hawkeye, closer to each other than their ranks usually allowed. The Fuhrer had planned on setting the parliament in power again and had it initiate the vote for a legal president. Something Amestris hadn’t had since before Bradleys predecessor. Drachma had delayed that. Had delayed him and Hawkeye too.

Had delayed him and her so much too, that it physically hurt to be so close to her. But he told himself, that it was the good kind of pain.

And smiling they watched as the newlyweds stepped out of the temple, the groom lifting his bride to his shoulder, the man forming a ring around them. Miles joined them, telling the General that he had to go and sing a boisterous song about the beauty of women. Did so with a smile, had to restrain himself from winking at her. The pain pulled on her too, he saw that.

Yet, the wedding commenced. They both spoke with many, keeping close to the other at all times. More than once he got her away from Mustang at the last second. Stood beside her when she handed over her gift, Bushra so excitedly talking about it in Ishvalan, that he for the first time in a long while saw Armstrong’s I`m-polite-but-what-the-hell-is-going-on-smile. When he later told her that Bushra wanted to gift her the veil after the wedding, meaning that she wished for her to marry next, he saw that she did not know what to feel. Her mood, lifted considerably since this morning wasn’t plummeting, but in limbo. After an elderly woman he couldn’t place, there was an influx of them with every new settlement build, pulled on his sash, asking him if she`d be invited, Armstrong told him that they needed to talk.

The noise dulled as soon as they stepped away from the festivities, night having already fallen long ago and he felt her demeanour change more than he saw it. He`d thought her to be tired when he last saw her at the wall, thought she was tired of being herself. Now, looking at him with blue eyes, he understood that she`d been tired of not being able to be herself.

The next words she said left him shaken.

“I`m going to retire Javed.”

There were many things he could have said now, so many questions, but coherent thought escaped him. He barely noticed the use of his first name. After many more steps, he blurted out only one word.

“Why?”

Before she could answer, nerves showing in every fibre of her being, they were interrupted.

“General Armstrong! Finally catching you outside of a crowd. We need to talk!”

Miles knew that his overly cheerful demeanour ticked her off, his hounding of her. Even though he seemed so serious now. He wanted something from her desperately and now that Miles knew that she wanted to retire, he could imagine a whole plethora of decisions she could make. Mustang wanted to install democracy as soon as possible, had to delay his plans because of the war with Drachma and Olivier could be a powerful ally, if she wanted to be one.

She turned around, finally snapping, glaring the man down.

“Can you please explain why you`re following me? I`m on a date here, dude!”

The Fuhrers eyes went a bit wider, but he wouldn’t hold this position if he couldn’t take such things in stride. He bowed the tiniest bit, his smile suddenly generous and laced with a hint of humour.

“Well, good luck then Colonel. May you survive!”

Her hand went to her belt, coming up empty, as her sword had stayed in her quarters, the man long gone anyways. He knew her well enough, saw her balled fists and her erratic breathing. She was pushing her anger down.

Yet, after a few second her words sunk into his mind. And then, with a small smile pulling on his mouth and new light in his eyes, he turned to face her.

“So, it _is_ a date?”

Her answer was quick, almost snappy.

“You had doubts?”

“A few. But they do not matter now.”

His arm brushed against hers, softly at first in the silence, until he jumped his shadow, taking her hand in his. Wondering immediately, why he thought it would be hard. They walked for a while, enjoying the shudders.

“Tell me now Olivier, why do you want to leave your beloved Wall? I always thought it to be your home.”

She fell apart, then and there. Pent up emotions breaking free, after what must`ve been months. Years, even. He tried not to regret all the wasted opportunities to talk.

“I cannot remain on this wall Javed, aching day and night! Every time a cold wind crashes into me, I hurt so much that I want to scream! When I wander the halls, so many faces missing by now, all of them my fault, I can barely stand it. There`s no war there now, I can go. They do not need me now. I do not need to watch over a border at peace. I`m free to find my own peace. I cannot lay in my bed at night anymore, thinking about what if!”

The scariest she wasn’t when she screamed, Miles revised in his mind, it was when she was so sad, so quiet, that tears were running down her face. And still so strong and brave, to say what`s on her mind. It coaxed out his own bravery.

“And what would be this what if?”

He could not escape her gaze, pinning him down, so open for once, both eyes free with the plaited hair.

“You, holding me, not keeping yourself from touching my skin. No dancing around, no swerving when it comes to feelings. No flinching when I undress. To be able to tell you that I want to be with you, see you be happy, preferably with me.”

A breath escaped him, one he didn’t know he was holding. He noticed he was shaking, how his heart was beating almost erratically. He`d longed to hear such words from her, had longed for so long and knew now, that it was his turn. That she probably needed this just as much as he did.

“I want all of this and more Olivier. I want you to wake up and go to sleep beside me, want to tell you every waking moment how much I love you. I thought the wall to be my home, then I thought it was Ishval. But I know now Olivier, that it’s you. It was you all along.”

Their gazes held the others for a moment and without further ado, he did what his heart told him to.

He took her face in his hands softly, pushing her back until her back was pressed into the nearest wall. And then he kissed her like there was now tomorrow, revelling in the feel of her soft lips, of seeing her eyes close in bliss just a second before his own did so too. When she deepened the kiss and his hand fell to her waist, hers burrowing into his hair, so much longer since he`d left her at the wall, he wondered why they`d not done this any sooner. Coming up for air, only out of dire need, he melted at the sight of Olivier breathing with her eyes closed, a blush spreading on her cheeks, tears not having stopped.

Foreheads pressed together, blue eyes finally meeting red ones again, she told him all he never knew he wanted to hear, in just one sentence.

“I`d be glad to be your home, Javed.”

She pulled him to her again and he complied, happily.

* * *

He knocked on his friends’ door, brows furrowing in thought.

The General had been at the wedding yesterday, he`d seen her several times. She`d talked with Miles often, the two even disappearing once, the Fuhrer following them. He´d learned early on that Amestrian’s used such festivities to talk about important matters of state just as much as they talked about drunken nonsense. So it had rightfully startled him that General Armstrong was apparently widely searched for and yet remained unfound.

It was clear since she`d stepped out of the train that she was troubled. He`d heard all about the war, knew of numerous injuries she was suffering from and was sure that trauma also played a big role in everybody’s eagerness to find her. That nobody had thought of asking Miles seemed to happen out of a wrong kind of thoughtfulness on the Amestrian’s part.

He heard hasty steps behind the door, the sound of something hitting the floor and Miles cussing in amestrian. He`d have smiled, maybe even laughed, were the situation not so awful. His friend was enamoured with the blonde women, had during his time in Ishval turned every being away that tried to near him in a romantic way.

The door opened, Miles standing in the doorway, clad in a pair of sweatpants, worn the wrong way round.

“Oh, Suhail, what can I do for you?!”

The man smiled at him, being slightly out of breath and trying to block the view into the small house as much as humanly possible. The scarred man’s face remained stoic, the situation still dire. Prepared for Miles to try and search for the General in a wrong-worn pair of sweatpants.

“A blessed morning, Miles. The news I bring are dire. General Armstrong has disappeared and nobody can find her. The Fuhrer wanted to talk to her, but apparently did not find her in her quarters. Colonel Armstrong is already fearing the worst.”

He expected the man’s face to change from hurried to scarred to worrying. Was ready to keep him from running out of the door and into the desert without proper footwear. Mentally prepared himself to wrangle a shirt on the man first, just to keep half of the towns female population from following in his wake.

He`d not expected him to blush.

“The General? Oh… she`s… she`s gone?”

Stuttering was unexpected too. Something he`d actually never seen or heard Miles do before. And highly uncharacteristic. Wasn’t one supposed to be worried when someone you liked was in danger?

“Yes, and no one knows where she`s gone too. Do you know anything?”

And now Miles was really sputtering, not getting out even a word. He nervously grabbed his pants in his fists and opened and closed his mouth uselessly, his brain obviously not able to form a coherent sentence. Waiting for an answer that made sense in the grand scheme of things, Scar looked past Miles and into the sitting room. And what he saw cleared every worry he had for his friends’ sudden mental decline immediately.

On top of the low table lay, perfectly folded, the traditional garb of a female wedding guest. Dark blue, trimmed silver and gold, the coin-chain of the day before on top of it. The sash of his kameez wound around it like in the oldest rituals. There`d been only one woman who wore this colour yesterday. He raised an eyebrow at Miles. And to wind his sash around her dress, the gesture one meaning that he gifted it back to her. Happiness for his friend bloomed inside of him.

“Just tell me that she`s alright, so her brother can stop worrying.”

And while Miles was still too preoccupied with blushing, the women in question was walking through the sitting room, coffee-mug in hand. Clad in only Miles kameez from yesterday, her bare legs long and spectacular, even to him, scars or not. She turned to look at the tableau at the door, one eyebrow raised.

“You can tell my brother that I`m quite alright, so he should quit his worrying. And tell the Fuhrer that he better leaves me the hell alone today.”

She turned and left the room again, Miles still looking all kinds of flustered. He wondered if Miles was aware what a woman wearing your kameez meant, considering how old _this_ tradition was.

“Suhail, I…I…”

He allowed himself to grin.

“My brother, I`m just happy that Ishvala has blessed you so. I will talk to the people searching, telling them that the General is alright. I`ll stay ambiguous?”

Miles nodded, still blushing, still absolutely flustered. Scar went on his merry way, grinning to himself, looking back over his shoulder to see Miles still standing in the doorway, a pale hand pulling softly on his arm. He could not keep himself from calling out.

“And Miles, you`ve got your pants on backwards!”

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), whose goal is to improve communication between readers and authors. I invite you to leave:
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